


In My Heart (Spock/Reader)

by treksickfic (cheeriofrog)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Other, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28949424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheeriofrog/pseuds/treksickfic
Summary: Following a near-disastrous away mission, Commander Spock comes to an unusual but satisfactory arrangement with you, a physician's assistant on the Enterprise. Satisfactory, that is, until a shipwide illness pushes you to your breaking point and you are forced to reconsider.Spock x Reader, any gender. Written with TOS in mind but could also be read as AOS.
Relationships: Spock (Star Trek)/You, Spock/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

"Good morning, Y/N."

Ah. Morning meditation finished, then. You raised a hand and waved in Spock's general direction, your eyes focused only on your medkit. You hoped you'd synthesized enough vertazine during your last shift and could avoid the tedious requisition process for additional vials. Your day was going to be long enough without adding that particular burden to it. When your count was completed, you looked up with a smile that changed quickly to a concerned frown.

Had Spock staggered slightly as he crossed the room toward you? And did he trail a hand against the wall to steady himself before he straightened into his usual posture? You couldn’t be certain. It happened so quickly, glimpsed only out of the corner of your eye, and he appeared his normal self as he stood in front of you now.

“What are your duties today?” He sounded like himself, too.

“Uh...” It took you a few moments to shift back into conversational mode after an hour of silence. “I'm making rounds first. We’ve had an unusual number of crew members confined to quarters due to illness in the past few days.”

"Communicable?"

"We're working on that assumption, yes. We’ve ruled out a foodborne etiology.”

“You are taking all the necessary precautions?”

He didn't ask the question out of any concern for you. Spock didn't worry, he'd always been perfectly clear on that point. His question was grounded in the instincts of the first officer, ensuring proper protocol was followed in all matters concerning the ship and its crew.

“Yes." You ticked off the points on your fingers as you replied. "Biofilters have been installed at the entrance of all quarantined sections. We’re utilizing enhanced infection control when interacting with affected crew members. Medical personnel undergo Level 2 decon before entering or leaving sickbay each shift. Standard procedure.”

“And you are well?”

You shrugged. “So far. If I develop any symptoms, I plan to quarantine myself out of an abundance of caution. We've set up a temporary ward in one of the science labs. Hopefully, we won’t need it.”

You served as a physician’s assistant on board the Enterprise and your daily duties required close contact with patients; your hope of avoiding infection would likely be a futile one but you would cross that uncomfortable bridge when you came to it. You stood, shouldering your kit, ensuring you’d left nothing behind. Your schedule was packed, and you wouldn’t be returning to your shared quarters until much later. Spock gestured for you to exit the room ahead of him and as you entered the corridor, you paused.

You’d learned never to say ‘have a good day’ because, of course, a day was neither good nor bad, it was only judged to be so based on the subjective and flawed perception of events. And ‘see you later’ guaranteed a lecture on the brevity of a human life and the inherent danger of space exploration. Instead, you’d taken to a private leaving ritual. You touched your hand to your chest and thought the words, _in my heart_. A small and rather silly gesture but it made you feel better as you went about your day and he left for his own duties.

You were still trying to wrap your mind around how the trajectory of your life had changed in such a short time. You hadn’t been living together for long. Only a few months earlier, you'd been assigned to a routine survey mission that ended with the two of you sheltered in the consuming blackness of a damp cave, all contact with the Enterprise lost as a thick, toxic pollen filled the valley below. By the time the air cleared the next morning and contact was reestablished, Spock was in your arms, drifting in and out of consciousness.

You remained close by for the next week while he recovered, ostensibly to work with Dr. McCoy on preparing an anti-toxin but, in reality, Spock seemed less agitated in your presence. After his discharge he continued to seek you out in sickbay, sometimes for assessment of minor symptoms and sometimes to sit with you while you finished your reports. He spoke little and gave no hint as to why he wanted to spend time with you, but you enjoyed his company. His visits grew from sporadic to regular and you often shared a meal since you sometimes forgot to eat, as did he. And one night, after a particularly tense day, most of it spent in alert status, Spock appeared in sickbay with a haunted look in his eyes, took you gently by the wrist, raised you to your feet and led you to his quarters. There was no agreement spoken, only an implicit understanding that you would stay with him, and you'd remained there ever since.

Dr. McCoy cleared your new living arrangement, such as it was. Regulation 1138 was officially suspended due to the “beneficial effect on his ability to command” or so the CMO’s report read. There was no romantic intent on his part, Spock remained cordial and distant, seemingly interested only in your platonic companionship. You did not share a bed, nor did you share a telepathic bond and your relationship was overlooked by the crew…or if not overlooked, at least it was tolerated without mention. The future was not spoken of and you accepted your small role in his life, pushing it to the back of your mind most of the time.

* * *

Your shift ended as it always did, with you hunched over your tiny corner desk, up to your eyeballs in reports, more reports, and when those were done, a few more damned reports. While you worked, you glanced up at random noises or stray shadows, expecting to see Spock in the doorway, but when you finalized your last record and stored the disk away, he still hadn’t shown up. You sighed and sat back. Just as well. What you really wanted was a hug. A hug and reassurance that you'd done your best under stressful conditions and the worst would soon be over, but you could no more ask Spock for that type of comfort than you could flap your arms and enter warp.

He never checked in with you concerning his off-duty activities nor did he expect an accounting of your plans. Irritating sometimes, often lonely, but tonight you felt a certain measure of freedom. He would not comment on your absence if you decided to stop by the Xenobotany lab before your return. The decon had removed the physical evidence of your messy and difficult day, but the memories remained. And even if they could spare only a minute or two of warm water, you craved the physical and psychological comfort of an old-fashioned shower.

When you arrived to the lab, you were grateful to find Lieutenant Parson on duty, a good friend who looked the other way when you shrugged out of your uniform and entered the stall. You didn’t linger under the water for long, the brief sluice of warmth enough to banish the tension of the day. You shivered as you stepped out and after you’d finished dressing, they tossed you a towel. You took a seat in the small dressing area to dry off your hair.

"Thanks for letting me sneak in a quick shower, El."

"Any time, Y/N. Rough day?"

"Yeah,” you agreed. “Over now, though."

"Hope so."

You considered the ominous words. “Know something I don’t?” 

“Probably not. I’m sure Commander Spock is feeling better by now.”

Your hands stilled and you flipped the towel off your head in case you hadn’t heard them correctly.

“Sorry, what?”

“He didn’t say anything to you?”

“We never talk in the morning." You gave a wry smile. "Or any other time, for that matter. Not that he would have mentioned it.” 

“I wouldn’t have known either, except he spent most of the day in the desert biome section, sitting right in the middle of the specimens. ‘Research,’ he claimed. Hard to conduct research with your eyes closed, though."

“Trying to warm up, more likely.”

"Seemed like it, yeah. I almost felt bad for him but he ruined an afternoon's worth of experiments."

Your own problems faded from your mind and you scooped up your medkit. You wanted nothing more than to return to your quarters to check on him. You only hoped Spock wasn’t as ill as some of the patients you’d treated during your shift.

“I should get going,” you said. "Sorry about your experiments." You didn't wait for a response as you rushed from the lab.

“Give him my love,” you heard your friend call after you. You laughed despite the worry churning in your stomach.

* * *

The door to your quarters slid back too slowly for your liking and you shouldered your way in before it fully retracted. You banged your leg on the couch to the right of the door and sat down heavily, rubbing at the painful spot on your shin. You hadn't expected it to be in your path. You didn’t share a bed with Spock and since moving in, you’d made do with a little fold-down bench instead. It was reasonably comfortable and if you were needed in the middle of the night, you wouldn’t disturb him when you left. Not that he spent that much time asleep, but you didn’t like interrupting meditation either. Because of the cramped space, you were careful to always tuck it away after use. But some time during the day the couch had been folded down and locked in place and the surface was piled with pillows and a rumpled blanket. Unusual. Perhaps he’d rested here for a while.

You limped toward the bedroom and peeked in, breathing a quick sigh of relief when you saw him lying on the small bed, lights dimmed. 

“Y/N, is that you?” 

“A most illogical question,” you said, uncertain if he’d be receptive to gentle teasing. “Yes, it's me. I thought you were asleep.”

He rolled to his side facing you and pillowed his head on one arm. “I cannot sleep,” he said. “Nor can I meditate.” With his other hand, he massaged his forehead, his mouth turned down in a slight grimace of discomfort.

“Headache?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

Ever since his exposure to the neurotoxin on the away mission, headaches had been a common occurrence. And a simple headache didn’t have to mean a harbinger of illness, not in the absence of other symptoms, but you needed to check. You flipped your medkit open, fingers closing automatically on your tricorder, and tapped in the code for a diagnostic scan without having to look down. You’d used it so often today.

“Do you mind if I examine you?” you asked, motioning with the scanner.

“It is unnecessary,” he said. “Other than the headache, I feel quite well.”

“It’s procedure. The gastrointestinal illness we’re dealing with presents with acute cephalgia as the initial symptom in 72.6% of the cases.” It was a bullshit statistic you’d made up, but he didn’t have to know that.

He remained quiet for a moment and then agreed. “You may proceed.” 

You stepped close to the bed and activated the tricorder, holding your breath while you waited for the termination signal. At the prolonged beep, you skimmed the display and then thumbed it off.

“At least it’s not the bug that’s been going around,” you said, blowing out a relieved breath.

“As I said.” His voice took on the patient tone he used when dealing with overemotional humans. “Worry is particularly useless emotion, Y/N. It can change neither the circumstances nor the outcome. You are wasting your time and energy.” 

You’d heard it before, any time you’d expressed even a hint of concern for him. 

“And yet we can’t seem to help worrying,” you said. “Especially if those circumstances involve someone we lov-- ” You trailed off. Affection was another misplaced emotion, at least according to him, and you weren’t in the mood to listen to a lecture tonight. “Never mind. Would you like an analgesic?”

“I do not wish any treatment. It will pass.”

You lifted the strap of your medkit over your head and placed it on a nearby shelf before you took a seat on the bed. You scooted as close to his side as you could, keeping one foot on the floor, the other curled underneath you. Spock rolled to his back, one eyebrow raised as he studied you.

You slipped a hand under his head and slid it downward, unsurprised to find the area from his upper neck to his shoulders taut and unyielding. You clucked your tongue. 

“No wonder your head hurts,” you said. “So much tension.”

You positioned your hands and began a firm but gentle massage, kneading your fingers into the bunched-up muscles. His eyes fluttered closed and he made only one inarticulate sound, something similar to “mmmnngh.”

You smiled and resisted the urge to lean over and plant a kiss on his forehead. His Vulcan sensibilities made him resistant to physical contact of any kind, but occasionally his touch-starved human side came to the fore and it was satisfying when he allowed you this close.

"Better?"

Spock lay loose-limbed and relaxed and he hummed softly in response to your question. You took this as an agreement and stood from the bed to stretch out your lower back. You’d spent too much time bent over the prostrate forms of fellow crewmembers today and your joints ached.

“Rest will help, too,” you said. “So, if you’re sure you'll be okay, I’m going to spend the night in the quarantine ward.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows in one quick movement. For a Vulcan with his emotions under complete control he seemed almost alarmed.

“Are you feeling ill, Y/N?”

“I’m fine.” You stopped yourself before you could add, _don’t worry_. “But we could both use some uninterrupted sleep.”

Spock’s shoulders sagged and he nodded. Even if his headache were improved, he appeared exhausted and in no shape to argue.

“Perhaps you’re right.” 

“Of course I am.” Your stomach gave a long rumble, and you pressed your hand to your midsection with a sense of foreboding. Maybe you weren’t feeling as fine as you thought. And maybe the exhaustion and achiness were the sign of something more than the remnants of a hard day.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, and then when a cramp seized your belly, you swallowed and added under your breath, “I hope.”


	2. Chapter 2

You sat alone in the mess hall, eyes on your tray in front of you. Merry chatter and laughter filled the space but seemed to exist outside of your own exhaustion and troubled thoughts. It had been a week and a half since your quarantine, your first day back on limited duty and you didn’t want to talk to anyone. Truth be told, you wanted to brood. The gastrointestinal illness that burned through the ship hit you particularly hard and your days had been a blur of fever and nausea and lying in your bunk in a tiny room in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets.

You drew patterns in the liquid oozing from the food cubes and when you tired of that, you swirled your glass in a circle to watch the liquid slosh in the cup. Your thoughts turned back to the night when your temperature climbed dangerously high and you’d dreamed a vivid fever dream of Spock sitting by your bedside, the soothing touch of a cold cloth, his hand underneath your head as he held a glass of water for you, his soft voice; the details so real, you almost believed it happened, except he'd sent no word to you, and Dr. McCoy never had a message from him to pass along. Deep down you weren’t surprised, and although you tried not to feel too hurt, his inattention and indifference still cut deep.

The sound of measured footfalls approached, and a shadow fell across the tabletop. You didn’t bother looking up.

“Hello, Y/N.”

You startled at the familiar sound of Spock’s voice.

“What are you doing here?” Surprise made your question rather blunt but true to his nature, he took no offense. “This isn’t the officer’s mess.”

His eyebrows quirked as a brief flicker of amusement flitted across his face and just as quickly disappeared.

“I am aware,” he said. “I wished to see you.”

“I’m off duty.”

“I did not mean in a professional sense.”

“Oh. “ You’d apparently lost the ability to form a coherent sentence in the time you sat brooding. “Then why-- ?”

“I wanted to assure you did not overtax yourself today.”

First officer of the Enterprise, always. Concerned with efficiency and productivity and crew performance. He didn’t care about how you were feeling, only if you’d performed your duties to expectations.

“I did my best.” You shrugged and pushed your tray to the side, crossing your arms on the table. “I’m feeling better but not all the way there yet.”

He nodded, giving you a dispassionate appraisal. “You do look fatigued.”

“Thanks. Still getting my strength back, I guess.”

He said nothing. You glanced up at where he stood, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for you to fill in the conversational gap. Enough was enough. You were physically exhausted, emotionally spent, and tired of doing all the heavy lifting in this sham of a relationship. After a moment of silent and mutual regard, you got to your feet so quickly you nearly tipped your chair over.

"You have not finished your meal," he said.

"Not hungry.” You grabbed blindly for your tray and turned away as you maneuvered past him in the crowded room. “Excuse me."

You were aware of his presence behind you while you deposited everything back into the replicator and as he trailed you out the door, you whirled on him in the corridor.

“Something else you needed?” You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions, whatever the hell they were. Anger, irritation, and a deep hurt seemed to be taking turns within you.

“Not at all. I will accompany you back to our quarters.”

“Oh, I’m…I’m actually heading to Sickbay.” And then, so fleeting you almost missed it, a look of worry, shifting quickly to his usual placid and unconcerned expression.

“For what reason?”

“Dr. McCoy asked me to stop in before I retired for the night.”

“A reasonable request,” he said.

“Not exactly a request,” you said. “You know how Dr. McCoy is, he orders you to report to Sickbay and then he thanks you for coming in, like it was your idea to begin with.”

“Indeed.” Spock gestured toward the turbolift and you fell into step beside him, your anger dissipating, replaced by weariness. “He was most concerned about you during your illness.”

“Was he?” From what you could remember, Dr. McCoy had visited you only a few times during your quarantine and had been brisk and matter of fact. If he’d worried, he hadn’t let on. “I didn't realize I was that sick."

You entered the lift together and you leaned against the wall, clutching the strap of your medkit with both hands to steady yourself. What you really wanted to do was wrap your hands around his arm, lean against him, borrow some of his strength. But it was a pointless wish. His reaction to unsolicited contact was unease bordering on distaste and you were barely keeping your emotions in check as it was. If he recoiled from you, you were afraid you’d dissolve on the spot.

"There was one night in particular that was most concerning to him," he said. "Your fever was extremely high.”

You spoke suddenly, fatigue overriding your usual reserve. “Hey, do you want to hear something ridiculous?” He waited for you to continue with one eyebrow raised. “It must have been that same night...Anyway, I was a little delirious and I actually thought you were there with me, sitting right by my bed. You spoke to me, too. It was so real. If I didn’t know you better, I’d almost believe it happened. Crazy, huh?”

“Unsurprising. An elevated temperature will often elicit visual and auditory hallucinations.”

“I guess so.”

He hadn’t been there after all, his nonchalant dismissal confirmed it. He hadn’t even given you a second thought. Logically, he wouldn’t risk his own health and the chain of command to tend to you. And you didn’t really expect it but in your weakness, your mind had conjured what you wanted most. Now two choices lay before you… you could either accept his nature and not wish for anything more, or as difficult as it would be, you could end it and move forward.

The doors of the turbolift opened, and you stumbled through, lost in thought. You caught your toe on the threshold and began to pitch forward, your arms extended to break your fall. His hands caught you and held you up for a moment before you regained your balance and stepped away. You tugged at your uniform to straighten it, giving yourself time to regain your composure and let your heart settle into its normal rate.

"Thanks."

He inclined his head and remained silent. When you resumed walking, his fingertips rested lightly against your back, guiding you gently down the corridor.

“This is my stop,” you said upon reaching Sickbay.

His brows drew together in confusion. “Your…stop?”

“Forget it, I was joking.”

“Ah. Shall I wait for you?”

“It’s not necessary.”

“Then I will see you, as you say, when you have finished.”

He turned on his heel and you stopped him with a hand on his arm. He faced you again.

“About that. Comman—” You shook your head. You still found it hard to speak his name without also addressing him by rank. “Spock. I’m not coming back. To your quarters, I mean.”

“You are staying elsewhere tonight?”

“I’m not coming back at all.” You took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

His focus shifted over your head, lips pursing slightly as he thought. “May I ask why?”

Everything you wanted to say he would deem too emotional, so you searched your mind for the most logical argument you could make. Logic he would understand.

“Our away mission was more than two months ago. You’ve fully recovered from your exposure to the neurotoxin and since you no longer require close medical supervision, I can think of no other reason I’d stay with you.”

“I was not aware you were dissatisfied with our arrangement.”

“Not dissatisfied, I wouldn't say that. I just feel…superfluous. Like an intrusion in your life rather than a welcome part of it. I don’t see how it benefits either of us.”

He nodded. “It seems you have given this considerable thought.”

You hadn't, really. You’d made your decision somewhere between the mess hall and the Sickbay entrance doors, but giving yourself more time to think wouldn’t change your mind. Doing it now, and doing it quickly, would be best.

"I have."

“And you will not reconsider?”

“I don’t think so.”

"Then I will leave you." His words fell heavily, final, and unchangeable.

Your throat ached and tears stung your eyes. You were going to cry, but not in his presence, not if you could help it. You watched him walk away from you, waiting until he’d entered the turbolift before allowing the tears to fall.

* * *

Dr. McCoy looked up from his desk as you entered.

“Y/N, thanks for coming in.” With his usual warm smile, he waved you over to an empty biobed. “Hop on up and let me take a quick look at you.”

He turned to gather his instruments and while he wasn’t looking, you dashed your hand across your eyes and sniffled. If he noticed you’d been crying, he didn’t let on as he reclined the table and switched on the telemetry screen over your heard. For a few moments, there was no other sound except the steady tones of the vital signs monitor and the quiet whirring of the tricorder as he ran a diagnostic scan.

“So, how are you holding up?” he asked.

“I’m okay. Thanks for taking it easy on me today.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t necessarily call performing physicals ‘taking it easy;’ you have to drag some of those boys out of Engineering kicking and screaming before they’ll comply.”

“They didn’t give me too much trouble.”

“Glad to hear it.” He frowned and turned off the scanner. “You’re a little dehydrated, Y/N. Stomach still upset?”

“Not much appetite, I guess.”

“Hmm. Well, do your best to get something in. Don’t want you to end up back here on a nutrient drip if we can help it.” He offered his hand and then pulled you up to a sitting position. “Did I see Spock out in the corridor with you?”

At the sound of Spock's name, you gulped, tears threatening again. Not trusting yourself to speak, you nodded.

“Surprised he didn’t come in with you.” At your puzzled look, he smiled again. “He’s got a little bit of the mother hen in him, believe it or not. He’s only been back on board since yesterday but his first concern after getting checked out was how you were feeling.”

“I thought…I mean, I didn’t hear from him at all while I was ill and I figured—”

“You figured he didn’t care?” Dr. McCoy perched on the edge of the biobed and crossed his arms, slipping easily into his other role as ship’s counselor. “I can see where you might believe that. But, Y/N, It was all I could do to keep him out of your quarantine room when you were sick . If the treaty negotiations on Danoor hadn’t gone belly-up at the last minute, I think he’d have stayed with you.”

You sat stunned at the revelation. You remembered none of it. He’d been away, on duty, in a potentially volatile situation and all you could think of was your own troubles. What had you done? 

"So, I didn’t hallucinate it? He was there with me?"

“For most of the night, yes.”

“But why did he risk it? He’s a senior officer, what if he’d gotten ill?”

“Exactly what I told him. But he insisted his superior Vulcan physiology would see him through. Guess he was right.”

“Oh god. I’ve made a huge mistake.” You said it softly to yourself as you buried your head in your hands, but Dr. McCoy picked up on it.

“Trouble in paradise, huh?”

“We ended it,” you said. “Our—” And you hesitated, unable to think of the proper term for what you’d shared with Spock. Not a relationship, not even close. An understanding? What was the word he’d used during your last conversation? “—our arrangement. It’s over.”

“I see. His decision?”

“Not entirely.”

“Didn’t think so.”

You stood slowly from the biobed and paced the edges of the room, taking careful breaths to try and calm the sick sense of dread churning in your stomach. A memory swam to the surface of your mind and you groaned aloud as you clutched at your head.

“Oh no, I'm such an idiot. Do you know what I did earlier?” You looked over your shoulder toward Dr. McCoy who appeared completely calm at your outburst. “I looked him straight in the eye and I told him how stupid I was for believing he'd actually stayed with me. Because I knew he’d never do that. But now you’re telling me he was there the whole time. Why didn’t he say anything?”

Dr. McCoy scoffed. “Well, it's Spock, isn't it? He's not going to come right out and declare his feelings for you, not ever. If you need flowery words and romantic gestures, you're in the wrong place. He has his own way of showing affection, as enigmatic as it may seem to us. ”

“I know. At least I thought I knew that.” You turned and leaned your weight against the equipment cabinet. Dr. McCoy regarded you with kind eyes as he waited for you to gather your thoughts. “What should I do?” you finally asked.

“Far be it from me to offer you advice on matters of the heart, Y/N. I’d be overstepping my bounds as CMO. But colleague to colleague?” He sighed. “It makes no sense, and it certainly isn't logical, but you two need each other. I’ve seen it in both of your faces, even if you can’t admit it to one another.”

He came to where you were standing and grasped your shoulders, giving you a gentle shake.

“You have your flaws and god knows he has his. The trick will be learning to make those jagged edges align. So, do me a favor, Y/N. Go to him, tonight, and talk it over. Be honest with him. Then if you find you truly can't work something out, you can bunk down here until we find another room for you, okay?

“I’ll try, but—” You took a deep shuddering breath. “I'm not sure Spock will want to talk to me. I told him I'd made my decision and that was that.”

He smiled and patted your arm in a fatherly manner. “If there’s one thing Spock is used to, it’s dealing with humans who make illogical decisions based on their emotions. He’s very patient with us. More patient than we deserve sometimes. ” At those words his eyes grew a bit distant as he recalled some private memory and then he shook his head and turned his attention back to you.

“Go on,” he said. “I’ll leave the light on for you, just in case.”


End file.
